


short scenarios

by nataliagraey



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, bau, criminal minds - Freeform, internal bitch slapping, mgg, tagsrhard2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:00:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29029095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nataliagraey/pseuds/nataliagraey
Summary: a bunch of random short scenarios of you and Spencer Reid. There is no timeline or plot, just my wack imagination.(I've updated this story three times since posting, so please scroll down for new content!)
Relationships: Reader - Relationship, Spencer Reid - Relationship, Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	short scenarios

(I'll add on to this chapter before starting a new one until I have 5 scenarios. I don't want this story to have like 300 chapters lmao)

(Spencer walks in to you guys' apartment after a case)  
You're watching Breakfast at Tiffany's, doing your best to ignore the clock and the fact that you can see the sun coming up when you hear light footsteps and a key in your door. Spencer walks in, head hanging and hair in his eyes. He hasn't noticed you yet, and you sit there, frozen, eyes wide as you stare at him. Spencer bends down and quietly places his bag on the floor. You can only image that he was doing it for your sake (had you been sleeping like any rational person). He suddenly seems to notice the light noises and lights from the TV. You're still staring at him, staying deathly still, feeling like he's your parent and you're trying not to get caught out of bed. Which is, of course, ridiculous, considering you've been dating for 2 and a half years. Slowly, his head turns to look at you. The eye contact is almost too much, and you choke on a laugh before slapping your hand over your mouth and staring at him in mortification. His eyebrows lift. "Y/N," he asks, voice low and gravelly from fatigue. "what are you doing up at 4 in the morning?" You squeak a bit, pointing at the TV. He narrows his eyes at you, then stalks over, his long legs quickly crossing the room. He stands above you, and you stare up at his face, blinking innocently. He moans, dropping down beside you and putting his head in your lap. You mute the movie, playing with his curls as you watch the actors flit about the screen in silence. He's asleep in moments, and you're glad.

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(you and Spencer are roommates, you haven't told him you like him)  
"Hey Y/N." spencer calls from the couch, a stack of 3 books to his left and another in his hand. Filling up his daily quota, you assume. "Spencerrr" you groan, closing the door dramatically behind you by leaning back against it. The corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile, and he licks his lips before flipping a page. You pout, cocking your head and throwing your messenger bag against the wall. You thought Spencer's bag was cute, so he took you to the same place he got his and you got one just like it. His smile widens, although it looks more as though he was doing his best to keep from full-on grinning. You notice it's been over 20 seconds and he hasn't flipped the page. Your heart stutters as he gives up reading and throws his head back against the couch cushions, his curls swaying from the movement. Pulling yourself together, you slip off your shoes and go to the kitchen to grab a capri-sun, your secret indulgence. "Me too, please." Spencer calls from the living room. You give a non-committal noise from the kitchen, grabbing Spence one as well. "Rough day?" he asks, tilting his head so that his jaw is on full display. You swallow, taking your seat next to him (but not too close, he would probably be able to hear your heart beat out of its chest). You sigh, resting your head on the back of the couch. He follows suit, and soon you feel him staring at you. You turn your head, the both of you staring at each other, breathing in rhythm. He hums distractedly, eyes glazing a bit before he breaks eye contact and scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and grabbing the book he had been reading off the side table. You shut out your brain for a minute, leaning your head into the crook of his bony shoulder. He shifts, his hip hitting yours before settling at an angle at which it seemed to be cradling you. He begins to read, his voice soft, so very Spencer-like. As he continues reading, you feel his breath getting closer to your ear. He turns the page, and nips once at your earlobe. You're instantly at attention, your hands finding a place on his shoulder and stomach as you turn your body towards him. He smiles, and you look up to him, the question clear in your eyes. Once again, he leans past you to put the book back on the table, his curls waving tauntingly in your face. This time your head follows his back to the couch, and you swing one leg over him into a soft straddling position, still not putting any weight on him. You place your hands in his hair, his soft, soft, hair, wrapping a curl around your finger. He grabs you gently with both hands on your waist, and slowly pulls you in.

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(You and Spencer are bored on the BAU jet)  
Spencer reaches over and rests his hand gently on your knee, getting you to stop it from bouncing for the third time that flight. You make a face, folding in your legs to sit in a criss-cross position, trying to think of a nice fictional world to sink back into for the rest of the ride. You glance over at Spencer. Seconds later, you glance over at Spencer again. Everyone else on the plane is sleeping, and you find it somehow both relaxing and incredibly not relaxing to look at his face, his jaw, the line of his nose and slight curve of his lips. He sighs, and the next time you glance over at him he's looking at you too, book dangling in his hands. His eyebrows raise, a small and shy smile raising the left side of his mouth. You fold over dramatically, flopping to the point where your head is hanging down and looking back up at him. He frowns but follows suit. "Y/N, what are we doing?" he mutters, his voice delightfully raspy from a lack of use. You shrug, and go back to a sitting position. He sits up as well. He puts his book in his bag, grabbing the top of the couch with one hand as he picks himself up and turns himself around to face you. "Bored?" he asks. You nod. He frowns, and you can practically *see* him thinking. He licks his lips unconsciously, and you find yourself staring at them. You're jolted back to the present, however, by him tapping on the back of your hand. He raises an eyebrow, but you clear your throat and sit up straight (looking at his EYES this time). "Rock paper scissors?" he suggests, holding his hands out like an offering. You grin and let out a small childish laugh, you haven't played this game in forever. "Yes, please." You both start playing, whispering quietly as not to disturb the others. Namely, Morgan. He can be a raging bitch if you wake him up unnecessarily. You're both looking down, concentrating, trying to gauge the opponent's next move, and your foreheads slowly drift closer. You notice that he wins practically every time, and you pause to frown up at him. He just lets out a rare smirk, looking entirely too pleased with himself. His hand is still held out in the "paper" move, and an idea forms, your mouth dropping open a bit. You try to approach this as you would a scared little animal, hoping Spencer isn't one of those fragile-in-their-masculinity types. "So," you say, leaning your hand back to reach in your bag. Spencer knows something's up (obviously, he's a profiler), but he relaxes his side to the couch and watches with apprehension instead of saying anything. "I noticed you have nice hands. I mean nails," you correct, stumbling over the last word. "I mean you have nice hands too, but I meant the part of your hand that is.. your nails." You bitch slap yourself internally, stopping your mini-ramble. You clear your throat, trying to look professional as you hold the thing you grabbed from your bag in your hand, enclosed so that he can't see it. He just smiles like a kid at a birthday party, adorable and incredibly pleasing. He sticks out his hands. I narrow my eyes at him, holding up my fist to see if there was a crack through which he saw what I was holding. There wasn't, and he continued to stick his hands out, a look on his face like, "I'm waiting." You shrug and smile happily to yourself, shaking up the light pink nail polish and unscrewing the cap.

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(You and Spencer are at the gun range, both trying to get your license)  
You and Spencer say thanks and move away from the counter, guns dangling from both of your hands like dirty paper towels. You walk over to your shared range, both staring at the target and not saying anything. "So," Spencer says, his voice quiet and sandy. He clears his throat. "So," you repeat, as both of you still stare at the target. It seems a million miles away. You snap out of it first, hefting up the tiny little gun and trying to get a better grip on it. To delay the inevitable, you mentally try to deconstruct the gun to see how it works. You know you're stalling, but you don't care. You fiddle with the safety, looking at the trigger and trying to look through the seams of the gun. Spencer notices and follows suit, but doesn't quite realize where the tip of his gun is pointed as it swings your way. Your eyes widen, and you place a restraining hand on his wrist, not particularly wanting to die today. His entire arm recoils, and he immediately looks apologetic about it. You smile, assuring him of no harm done, and nod at the gun. "I'd really rather not die in a gun range." you say, trying to make light of everything. "Bit of a lame death, no? Come on, lets at least try the stance." He nods his assent, and you both adjust your bodies. You cringe, seeing an almost exact mirror of it on Spence's face, as you imagine what the other FBI agents/trainees in the range must be looking at you and thinking. "How about... you go first," Spencer says, widening his eyes in the "I'm innocent" look. You do just about the opposite, narrowing your eyes at him, but step into the middle anyways, rolling your shoulders. "All right then," you say, standing as you were taught to stand as you bring the gun up to eye level. You mutter incoherently to yourself as you check off the list of things you're supposed to do, making sure the safety's off and that you're wearing your protective glasses. You take a deep breath and fire, missing the target completely. You startle out an embarrassed laugh, feeling your neck flush. You hear Spencer suppress a laugh, and you switch the safety on, placing your hands on your hips as you raise an eyebrow at him. "Well? You go on then. See if you're any better." He blinks a few times, opening his mouth only to close it a moment later. He frowns but steps into place, and you see him check off his own list as well, adjusting his hips and his hands. He fires, and you hear the echo of it, but no new markings appear on the target. You smirk at him, gently nudging him out of the way. "Don't go all getting a big head now, Y/N," he mutters, stepping aside dejectedly. You go through this rhythm over and over again, both of you getting better as you practice. Finally, it's time to take the test, and you both pass, albeit narrowly. He frowns, holding his license in his hands (he asked to have his printed out, mine was digitally sent over to the appropriate people). "That's got to be the closest I've gotten to failing a test." he says, holding open the door for you without thinking about it. You snort, regretting it a moment later but pushing on. "I figured." you say, heading over to the driver's side as Spencer gets in the passenger seat. Carpooling reduces pollution, after all. He pulls his seat belt on, tucking his legs onto the chair in a folded position. You're halfway to Spencer's apartment, planning on dropping him off before heading home, when he gently wraps his hand around your wrist that you had left lying between the seats. You hum, biting down a smile. You take it as his way of apologizing for recoiling earlier. You park in front of his apartment building, pulling down a visor to block out the late sun. "Thanks for the ride, Y/N. Bye." he says, giving a small wave before walking to the building door with both hands in his pockets. You drive home, smiling and keeping your hand rested between the seats.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos if you liked it please :) thanks!


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